


And a Bed for Three

by lady_ragnell



Series: And A Bed For Three (and extras) [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 04:05:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ragnell/pseuds/lady_ragnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is back in London after two years away, but it's hard to settle in when he can't stop thinking about Merlin and Freya. Who are already together. He's fairly certain this isn't normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And a Bed for Three

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [one of my pornathon entries from this summer](http://archiveofourown.org/works/477936) and by the fact that I think this is a totally underrated threesome. Title from Lisa Mitchell's "Coin Laundry." Only finished with a great deal of encouragement and glee from the lovely **flammablehat**.

“Morgana and Gwen’s flat,” says a stranger across the intercom when Arthur presses the button, and for a second he’s at a loss for words. “Hello?” the woman continues when he doesn’t answer quickly enough. “Are you here for the party?”

“Yes, it’s … ah, it’s Arthur.” _And who the hell are you_ , he doesn’t ask, because it’s entirely reasonable that Morgana and Gwen have made new friends in the two years he was out of the country, and he knew in advance some of them would be at this party.

There’s what sounds like a scramble across the intercom, a rush of voices and laughter and the distinct sound of Morgana shouting “You’re late” before the buzzer goes and he goes inside, letting them keep talking into the night.

Gwen opens the door when he knocks, smiling and a bit teary and hugely pregnant (she’s only six months on, but any amount of pregnancy from his sister’s long-term partner that has not ended in Morgana on a separate continent or possibly a rocket ship and still running counts as hugely pregnant as far as he’s concerned). “We were beginning to think you weren’t coming! Not that you’d be anxious about it or anything, but maybe you were jetlagged or something.”

Arthur smiles, on a slightly more even keel with the familiar sight of Gwen fluttering about in front of him, and holds out what he’s got in his hands. “I brought you flowers and Morgana grape juice from Napa Valley. I would have brought her wine, but I decided that if you aren’t allowed to drink she shouldn’t be either.”

Morgana, summoned by the sound of her name, appears in the doorway looking as put together as ever. Gwen’s sense of good timing makes her divest Arthur of his offerings two seconds before Morgana slugs him in the arm with all her strength and then hugs the breath out of him with the door still held open and all the other guests watching from the sitting room. “Welcome back,” she whispers, and then shoves away and pretends none of it happened.

“Your hair got long,” he says before cursing himself for the inanity.

Inane or not, it seems to give Morgana her equilibrium back. “Yes, and Gwen got pregnant, it’s amazing how these little things change when you fuck off to California for two years to do business and don’t come for visits. Come on, come in, I’ll introduce you to all the strangers and you can tell us all about the movie stars you met, as movie stars are the only excuse I will accept for you _never visiting_.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows at Gwen behind Morgana’s back. She just gives an elaborate shrug and then takes Morgana’s arm, giving her the pitiful look that has worked on Morgana since they were all sixteen. “Maybe let him chat to the people he knows for a bit, Morgana, he only got back to town yesterday and he probably hasn’t even talked to Leon yet. Besides, it isn’t as if there are a _lot_ of people here.”

When Morgana turns to her to start a low-voiced argument, Gwen widens her eyes at Arthur in a way that suggests he should make himself scarce as quickly as possible, and he obeys, latching onto the first familiar face he sees—Elyan, Gwen’s brother. “Morgana claimed party hosting rights,” he says with great sympathy, and passes Arthur a beer. “We all thought Leon would, but she claimed blood relative status.”

“I forgot what she gets like when she’s hosting.” It isn’t as if they haven’t talked at least twice a week most of the time he’s been gone, on the phone and Skype both.

“It’s only gotten worse since Gwen got pregnant.” Arthur toasts him and takes a swallow of the beer. “I won’t ask you about California, you’ll have to say it a hundred times tonight, maybe we should just stop the proceedings and have you tell all of us at once.”

“I’ll have cards printed.” Arthur catches sight of Leon across the room, chatting with a dark-haired woman he doesn’t know. “I’ve just spotted Leon, I should go say hello. He pines without me, you know.”

“Can’t stand in the way of the bromance of the century,” Elyan says, and waves him off.

Leon envelops Arthur in a hug tighter than Morgana’s once he’s within arm’s reach. “Yes, yes, you’ve missed me in the eight weeks since you came and crashed in my guest bed,” says Arthur, clapping him on the back. “Sorry I didn’t call you when I got in yesterday, by the time I walked through the door to my flat all I wanted to do was sleep.”

Leon beams at him. “It’s fine, Arthur, I figured that was it. I only doodled your name sadly on three of my notebooks.” The woman who’s still standing there laughs, and Leon starts like he forgot about her. “Sorry, Freya, forgot my manners. This is Morgana’s brother Arthur, and Arthur, this is Freya, we’ve probably mentioned her.”

The name is familiar, though everyone tends to update him on the people he knew before he left and not anyone new passing through the group. “Of course you have,” he says nonetheless. “Good to meet you, Freya.” She shakes his hand, grip surprisingly firm.

“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” she says after a few more pleasantries, peering across the room and then breaking out into a mischievous grin. “Merlin seems to have been kidnapped by Elena, that’s only going to end in an explosion.”

With that, she disappears, leaving Arthur to blink at Leon. “I didn’t think Elena fought with _anyone_ , who’s this Merlin she can’t get along with?”

Leon laughs. “Literal explosions, I’m afraid. Merlin’s a scientist, Elena’s decided he’s the second coming of Bill Nye, never mind that the first coming of Bill Nye isn’t finished with yet, and if we let them talk alone too long it inevitably ends in flames. Though to be fair Merlin makes a really good flambé.”

Merlin’s one of the ones Gwen talks about when they chat, someone she met at some engineering conference who she promptly adopted like the proverbial puppy following her home, so Arthur knows enough to be entertained by that. “I’ll look forward to getting to know him.”

“He and Freya are great, they’re the two that’ve stuck around the most since you fled the country—”

“Transferred offices,” Arthur corrects.

“—and you’ll get on like a house on fire.” Leon grimaces. “Hopefully not a literal one.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Now, tell me what else I’ve missed with everyone else who’s here.”

Leon is an inveterate gossip, so he spends the next fifteen minutes telling Arthur about Mithian’s promotions and Gwaine and Vivian’s on-again off-again shagging (current status: on) and Lancelot’s latest adventures in his endless quest to find himself until Morgana marches up to them, takes Arthur’s arm, and hauls him off without more than a smile at Leon. After that, he’s introduced to all of Morgana and Gwen’s co-workers and the various acquaintances who are either new or forgotten by him, since this is technically not a homecoming party so he has to put up with strangers.

In the end, Morgana is called off by some sort of disaster in the kitchen (Gwen winks at him from the kitchen door, which is why she’s his favorite sister-in-law), and she deposits him on a couch next to a strange man with dark hair, large ears, and the look of being someone’s absent-minded professor. “I’ve forgotten who you are,” he admits, since it’s best to be up front about these things.

Surprisingly, that just gets him an improbably wide grin. “No worries, I’ve got the advantage, I’ve seen your picture around here and on Facebook and stuff.” Arthur spares a moment to worry about what exactly Morgana is posting about him on Facebook. He hasn’t had time to log on in months. “I’m Merlin.”

“Oh, right, the famous Merlin, I knew you looked familiar—Morgana showed me pictures one time.” He shakes Merlin’s hand and does his best to relax. From what he’s heard, Merlin isn’t going to be a stranger much longer. “Did you get rescued from Elena?”

“You were talking to Freya. She’s always maligning my character.” The grin Merlin gives Freya across the room is so besotted it’s almost embarrassing to watch. “Elena and I don’t need rescuing from each other. Honestly, you start an alcohol fire once and suddenly you aren’t trusted …”

Arthur laughs. “Morgana apparently forgot to tell me that one.”

“Funny, she never lets me forget it.” He’s still watching Freya, as if he’s forgotten he wasn’t doing it in the first place, and he starts when she turns around to smile and shake her head at him in the midst of a serious conversation with Mithian. Merlin, unrepentant, just waves. “Sorry,” he says when he remembers to look back at Arthur. “Just …”

“No problem.” He’s still tired and overwhelmed, but he’s starting to remember a bit of what Morgana and Gwen have told him about Merlin and Freya—specifically that they’re together, the sort of couple that’s made for each other in the kind of way that would be sickening if it weren’t so adorable. And when even Gwen says that he knows it has to be blatant. He’s beginning to see what they mean. “How long have you two been dating?”

“Since halfway through university.” Merlin turns back to Arthur, apparently done staring at his girlfriend like an idiot. “Boring story, really. Took a course together, studied together, figured out we just … fit.”

“I never said it has to be interesting.” If theirs was a story fit for a romantic comedy Arthur might have to be rather disgusted with them, in fact. He gets enough of that from Morgana and Gwen, thank God they’re settled these days. “Your job apparently makes up for that. Leon tells me you’re some sort of mad scientist?”

Merlin laughs and takes to the segue easily, talking about his job as a research physicist in terms Arthur can barely keep up with. Still, the conversation moves easily from work to friends to television to a long and vicious argument on cooking shows and whether or not Gordon Ramsay has any appeal on either side of the ocean. Arthur’s friends stop by the couch and chat for a few minutes apiece, but to his surprise conversation seems easiest with Merlin until he ends the night by yawning.

The second he does, Gwen adroitly extracts him from the party, puts him in his jacket, and calls a cab. “This is why I told Morgana we ought to wait a week before dragging you into a party,” she says while they wait for it to come. “Are you totally knackered?”

“Yes, but I’ll have brunch with the two of you day after tomorrow and I should be right as rain by then, okay?”

“Okay. Did you at least have a good time tonight?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Of course, Gwen. Merlin seems like a nice bloke, and Freya’s lovely from what I saw of her. It’ll take a while to get used to seeing everyone on a regular basis again, but I have missed you all, so I’m happy to be here.”

Gwen gives him a sudden hug, pregnant stomach pressed against him as she goes up on her toes. “We have missed you. Morgana especially, even though she’ll never admit it. If you try to go out of the country for more than a vacation again we’re going to chain you up in your flat. You’re going to be an uncle, you can’t just abandon your niece.”

“I promise,” he says, giving her a kiss on the forehead, and pulls away as his cab comes up the street. “I’ll call you two tomorrow when Morgana’s hungover from that wine she’s been pretending not to drink all night.”

Gwen laughs. “Oh, Arthur, how we’ve missed you.”

*

Five days later, after Arthur’s had time to settle back into the rhythm of London, had coffee and drinks with what seems like everyone of his acquaintance (wearing all his best stories about California thin in the process), and gone to his first day of work back at the London office, his phone rings in the evening with a number he doesn’t know. For a second, he thinks about not answering, since all he really feels like doing is watching the rerun of _Top Gear_ that’s playing, but he picks up before it goes to voicemail. “Hello?”

“Hi, Arthur? It’s Merlin. Gwen gave me your number, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” He mutes the television. “What can I do for you? Or is this a courtesy call to let me know that my sister-in-law is giving my private information out to strangers?”

Merlin laughs. “I’d worry more about your sister doing that, really. Anyway, Freya and I were thinking we ought to get to know you better, since we’re all part of the same group now, and we wondered if you might come to our flat for dinner sometime soon. You’ve probably been busy all week, but whenever you’re free we’d love to have you.”

“That sounds lovely, actually, though you’re right, I have been busy. I could use a few nights at home to unpack. When are you two free?”

“We thought maybe Sunday?” Someone talks in the background—probably Freya—and Merlin lets out a nervous laugh. “Or, you know, whenever.”

“Sunday is fine, actually. I’ve been roped into helping Morgana and Gwen do some shopping for the nursery in the morning, but my evening is free.”

“Great. Maybe seven? I’ll text you directions, you sound knackered and I don’t know if I trust you to remember them just now.”

Arthur grins. “I’m beginning to see why you and Morgana get along. Yes, by all means, I’m going to go back to staring mindlessly at my television. See you Sunday, Merlin.”

“See you Sunday,” says Merlin, voice low, and hangs up before Arthur can do more than blink at his tone.

*

Sunday, Arthur turns up at Merlin and Freya’s door five minutes late due to inconvenient Tube scheduling. Merlin opens the door with flour in his hair. He’s also, Arthur notes a second later, wearing a sweater vest. “You’re really embracing the scientist stereotype, aren’t you?” he says before he can quite stop himself.

“I’m trying to talk him into bow ties.” Freya appears behind Merlin, tugging him gently back until Arthur can come in and shut the door. “Hello, it’s good to see you, Arthur. Put your jacket anywhere, we’re sort of still working on furnishings.”

Arthur obediently shucks off his coat and leaves it on top of what seems to be a pile of scarves and mittens next to the shoes. “No problem. I brought wine, it seemed the thing to do.”

Merlin takes it from him. “You didn’t have to, but thanks. Dinner should be ready in five, chicken and asparagus and a few other things, and the shortcake is in the oven for dessert.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“Speaking of, I’ll go check on the kitchen. Freya, want to show him around?”

“Sure.” She gives Merlin a quick kiss and then prods him away to smile at Arthur. “Shall we? It’s not much, but you ought to have the tour anyway.”

“Yes, of course.” When Freya turns away, there’s a smudged handprint in flour on the back of her red blouse. “You’ve got flour on your back,” he says. Normally he wouldn’t mention it, but he’s used to Morgana shouting at him for not telling if she’s got a hair out of place.

“Whoops, sorry, probably Merlin’s fault.” She cranes her neck over her shoulder and then gives him an impish grin. “Mind getting it off for me? Just a bit of brushing should get it off easy enough.”

Arthur obeys, brushing it off as quickly as possible. His hands and Merlin’s must be nearly the same size, judging by how easily his hand covers the print. Freya’s back is warm and her blouse is smooth and silky and Arthur snatches his hand back the second he realizes he’s noticing it. “There you go.”

“Thanks. Come on in, we’re still standing in the hallway.” Arthur follows, and lets her gesture him around the flat. It’s small, but cozy, the living room draped all over in brightly-colored, soft throws, with a massive comfortable couch and a few less comfortable chairs scattered around. The kitchen, where Merlin is stirring something on the stovetop, is small enough that all three of them standing in it would be a squeeze, and their table would only fit four in a pinch, but the whole place feels like someone’s _home_ , which Arthur’s flat certainly doesn’t after two years unoccupied. “That’s the bedroom,” Freya says at last, gesturing at a closed door on the far wall, “but you don’t really need to see that, I suppose.”

“No, we haven’t quite reached that stage of acquaintance.” He pauses and rethinks that, but no, there’s really no way of putting it that doesn’t sound awful. He can only hope Merlin isn’t the jealous sort.

Freya doesn’t look at all bothered. “Of course. Merlin, how’s dinner going?”

“About ready, if the two of you are done poking around our postage stamp of a flat.” Arthur takes that cue to go to the table, set with a mismatched mess of dishes, and lets Freya and Merlin put all the food on the table and pour some of his wine. “I’d say you should tell us about California,” Merlin says while they’re all serving themselves up, “but I imagine you’re rather sick of talking about it. Really, I feel I ought to ask you if you have any embarrassing childhood stories about Morgana that you’d like to share.”

Arthur laughs. “I do, but it’s more than my life is worth to tell them. Why don’t you talk about yourselves first? I know how much everyone gossips, you probably know my whole life story already.”

Merlin pins him with an odd look. “Yes, but we haven’t heard it from you.” Before Arthur can think of a response, he goes on. “What do you want to know? I do science and cause far less explosions than your sister and Elena will lead you to believe. I’m from a tiny little village nobody’s ever heard of, and … no, really, that’s about it. I can’t possibly be that boring. Freya, tell him something interesting about me.”

Freya finishes a sip of her wine while she deliberates. “He plays chess,” she offers, then wrinkles her nose. “That doesn’t make him seem less boring, I suppose. He’s a great cook and he can quote pretty much any Monty Python routine and most of _Blackadder_ verbatim.”

Arthur can’t help grinning. “Doesn’t sound boring at all. What about you? I’m afraid I haven’t picked up what you do yet.”

“I’m a veterinary assistant at an animal clinic in the city—working towards my degree to be a proper vet.”

“No pets, though?”

“We’re waiting till we get a better flat before we get a cat or two,” Merlin explains around a mouthful of asparagus.

From there, the conversation flows easily, ranging from careers to mutual friends to music and movies and favorite places in the city. The food is delicious, from the salad to the dessert, which is covered in lethal amounts of whipped cream that gets absolutely everywhere. Merlin and Freya seem to have no compunction whatsoever about wiping (or, in one particularly spectacular moment where Freya gets some on her wrist, licking) it off each other. Arthur would feel awkward, or like a third wheel, with anyone else, but one or the other of them always grins like he’s in on some sort of joke, and at one point Merlin wipes some cream off Arthur’s cheek with a grin and a wink.

They shoo Arthur out the second he offers to help with the dishes, Merlin with a slap on the back and Freya with a kiss on the cheek, and he goes home feeling baffled and warm and not quite sure what he’s getting into.

*

Evenings at the pub, for the duration of Gwen’s pregnancy, seem to have been replaced by afternoons at the coffeeshop around the corner from Morgana and Gwen’s flat. Most everyone gorges on coffee and baked goods, but Morgana and Gwen both seem to be drinking herbal tea (Morgana with every appearance of pleasure, God knows why she likes the stuff, and Gwen with an air of long-suffering reluctance). Arthur, pathetically glad to be around proper tea again after two years in the land of Starbucks, sticks with tea as well, though not the herbal stuff.

Everyone, he’s starting to realize now that they’re all in a large group in the light of day, seems to have turned into adults in his absence. Morgana and Gwen are starting a _family_ , for God’s sake. Gwaine and Vivian’s always-combative relationship has turned into old-married-couple sniping. Leon is apparently playing some sort of long game with Mithian (which he didn’t tell Arthur about, the cheat) that involves a great deal of pulling out chairs and asking her about work. Hell, even Elena is wearing something besides jeans and a ratty jumper even though it’s the weekend.

He knows he must seem as odd and grown up to them as well, but he’s being confronted with all of them at once. Having Merlin and Freya around is a relief, because even if they are ridiculously settled for being twenty-five he at least doesn’t know them any other way. To his relief, they seem to enjoy his company just as much, and the three of them spend most of the afternoon continuing their previous conversations.

Morgana takes his arm as they leave the coffeeshop, leaving Gwen behind to chat with Elyan and Leon, since they’ve got to childhood reminiscences. “You’re getting on well with Merlin and Freya,” she says once they’ve walked nearly half a block towards her flat.

Arthur knows her well enough to know that she’s as good as asking which one of them he’s flirting with and that it had damn well better be neither of them. “They’re quite good company, I must say.”

“Very well suited as a couple, it’s insane how in sync they are.”

“Morgana.” He sighs, thinks of brushing flour off Freya’s shirt and teasing Merlin. It isn’t as if he doesn’t know what she’s afraid of. It’s just that he’s also got the image of them moving in concert around their flat, and flirting shamelessly even though they’ve been together for five years; he doesn’t think it’s _possible_ to break that up, and he knows he wouldn’t want to. “I’m not going to ruin things, okay?”

“That’s not what I’m afraid of.” She squeezes his arm. “Don’t get hurt, Arthur. I’m just heading you off at the pass before you get infatuated with one or the other of them and get your heart broken.”

“I promise, Morgana, there is no danger of that at all.” He’ll just have to go on a date or two, nip anything that might be growing in the bud.

“Good. In that case, Gwen and I are trying to figure out what to do about curtains for the nursery …”

Arthur lets her chatter on about jungle animal prints versus farm animal prints versus butterflies or fish or stars and planets as they walk back to her flat, and tries very hard not to think that getting infatuated with “one or the other of them” might not be quite his problem.

*

The next time Arthur sees Merlin is at the pub with Leon and Elyan, and he feels rather ambushed at the sight of him still looking like someone’s prim professor chalking a cue with expert skill as he faces off against a man who looks as if he rides motorcycles and bites the heads off small rodents in his spare time. “That looks like it’ll end well,” Arthur says, sliding into a booth across from Elyan and Leon with a fresh round of drinks for them. “Is he any good?”

Elyan’s grin verges on devilish. “This is going to be glorious, you should watch.”

“It’s good for the soul,” Leon contributes.

That, of course, makes Arthur crane his neck until he has a good view of the game about to start. The biker seems to be more entertained than annoyed by Merlin, and gestures that he ought to break once they have the balls set up. Merlin, with expert skill that Arthur only recognizes from a few too many nights at bars in the States, lines up a perfect shot and sends the cue ball flying. The biker looks impressed.

Over the next twelve minutes (Arthur counts), Merlin bests the biker at whatever variation of pool they’re playing so easily that Arthur feels a little pity for the other man (well, he would if the expression on his face weren’t getting more angered by the second). Elyan and Leon cheer quietly for every ridiculous shot Merlin manages to pull off, and even Arthur joins in clapping when Merlin sinks the eight ball and takes a bow for the small crowd that’s gathered.

If this were the movies (or possibly one of the seedier bars Arthur went to in California), there would undoubtedly be a brawl, the biker and his leather-clad friends against Merlin and his, but while the biker looks anything but pleased, he pulls out his wallet and stuffs a few notes into Merlin’s hand. Merlin grins and takes them and comes back to the booth, sliding in beside Arthur without waiting for Arthur to move over properly. “That was great fun,” he says, entirely satisfied. “Next round’s on me, and then I’ll go looking for another victim. Hi, Arthur.”

“Hello. You’re quite good at that.” He toasts Merlin.

Merlin nudges his shoulder. “I had a misspent youth. My friend Will’s dad taught us when we were kids, and I started again at university and got good enough that when I needed a bit of cash I could make some. Now it’s just fun.”

“I’m sure it is.” He tries not to think about Merlin all stretched out over the table to make a shot with an expression of intense concentration on his face and casts about for the one subject that should stop him thinking anything stupid. “How’s Freya?”

Leon and Elyan exchange a look. Arthur ignores them and waits for Merlin’s answer. “She’s good. Busy week between work and class, so she’s exhausted, but she asked me to say hello to you. And everyone else, of course, even if lads’ pub night isn’t that crowded this evening.”

That’s Leon’s cue. “Vivian’s dragged Gwaine off to dinner with her father, poor man, and Percival says he got caught up in something at work. We’re all there is for the evening, I’m afraid.”

Elyan grimaces. “When did we get boring?”

“It was because I went away, of course,” says Arthur, taking a long pull off his pint. “I should have known you all would get dull while I was gone.”

Merlin seems to be attempting to look offended, but the smile on his face is too big for it to be even halfway convincing. “I’m never dull, I’ll have you know. I just beat a biker at pool.”

Leon laughs. “You and Freya are as bad as Gwen and Morgana, don’t deny it. Face it, we’re not yet thirty and we’re still somehow pretending to be adults.”

“Being an adult doesn’t mean being boring,” Arthur points out, mostly for the sake of argument. He hasn’t seen much evidence to the contrary, at least in his own experience.

Merlin, though, seems to take him at his word, kicking him lightly under the table in a way that feels alarmingly like the prelude to a game of footsie and giving him a sidelong look. “Exactly,” he says, and changes the subject to the latest Bond film.

*

Arthur’s phone goes on a Tuesday lunchtime when he’s just staring at the sandwich he packed and wondering if the bread might be a bit moldy (he’s got to stop making meals at six in the morning, he’s always messing things up). To his surprise, it’s Freya’s name on the display. Since Merlin’s the only one of the two who’s called him so far, he can’t help but be curious enough to pick up. “Hi, Freya, what’s going on?”

“I know this is out of the blue, but I’ve been doing some errands in your area of the city and I thought I’d call and ask if you want to do lunch. There’s a little diner nearby I like. Or do you executive types only eat at the fanciest French restaurants?”

“You’ve been letting Merlin fill your head with nonsense,” he says around a grin, already tossing his sandwich in the rubbish bin. “I’d love to meet you, I was just wondering if the bread from my meal was going to stand up and walk away on its own. Where are you? I’ll come meet you.”

She gives him the diner’s address, and ten minutes later, he’s sliding into a booth across from her. She’s still red-cheeked from the chill in the air, and greets him with a quick squeeze on his arm. “Tea? Coffee? Middle-of-the-day cocktail?”

Arthur looks dubiously at the menu. It doesn’t seem the sort of place to serve cocktails. “Just water’s fine with me, I caffeinated myself far too much this morning,” he says, both to her and to the waitress who swings by and looks at him expectantly. “What brings you to this part of the city?”

Freya brandishes a shopping bag at him. “Merlin’s mum’s birthday is coming up, and she’s amazing, so we’ve both got a habit of trawling the entire city for perfect gifts, and there’s a specialty craft shop in the area that has a sort of yarn she likes. I suppose I could have ordered it online, but this way I got to see you, anyway.”

“I’m honored. You’ve got the day off work, then?”

“I’ve got the Saturday shift this week, so I get to take a day off in the middle of the week in return. And you’re doing … I don’t really know what businessmen do all day.” She shrugs. “Flirting with their secretaries a lot, judging by the films.”

“That’s a mildly horrifying idea, I’ve known Mordred since he was one of our sixteen-year-old summer interns and he’s well over age now but I can’t bring myself to think it.” Freya laughs. “And our lives are filled with paperwork, which is much less glamorous. It’s my father’s company, though, and now that he’s mostly retired I’ve been steering it around to be more environmentally conscious, and … you don’t care about that in the least, I’m sorry.”

“No, I do, tell me all about it,” she insists, and since Arthur can’t see any reason why not to, he starts on the abridged version.

Freya’s less quick to smile than Merlin, and less likely to tease Arthur as well, but she’s got a way of just looking at him and managing to extract all the information she wants without getting his hackles up, a feat even Morgana hasn’t managed. He ends up telling her about his father, his mother, and just how his first girlfriend ended up as his sister’s life partner, and in return she tells him a bit about her own past—not much, he gets the impression it’s rather more tragic than she lets on, but enough so he feels by the end of the meal that he knows her properly as a person, not just as half of Freya-and-Merlin.

“I’ve overstayed my lunch,” he says with regret after a burger and chips that have left him groaning (even though he couldn’t resist a piece of cherry pie on top of it). “Some paperwork is pressing enough that it can’t wait.”

“Of course, I shouldn’t have kept you.”

He puts down enough money to cover both of their meals over her objections. “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure,” he says when she finally gives in. “Maybe I’ll invite you and Merlin to dinner, as thanks for your invitation the last time?”

Freya stands up and gives him a quick hug. She’s tiny, but a lot stronger than she looks. “That would be lovely, Arthur. Do give us a call about it. And perhaps I’ll give you a call the next time I’m in this area of town. If you don’t mind, anyway?”

“Of course I don’t mind. And if my business ever takes me by your vet clinic I’ll even return the favor.”

She wraps her scarf around her neck as they head out onto the street. “Maybe I’ll pay for your lunch, then.”

*

It takes a week and a half for Arthur to find the breathing space to invite Merlin and Freya to dinner (mostly Morgana’s fault—Gwen may be the pregnant one, but she’s the one nesting, and she is currently in a phase of believing every tiny detail of their nursery must be perfect, as if two weeks after the baby comes it won’t look like a blast zone). The second he starts to issue the invitation, on the phone with Merlin since Freya didn’t pick up when he called, it’s accepted, so on a Friday night Arthur finds himself in his kitchen cooking one of the few nice meals he knows how to make.

Freya and Merlin turn up five minutes earlier than he’s expecting them, while he’s still (embarrassingly enough) wearing an apron to keep from getting his good jumper covered in food. Freya’s carrying some sort of flower in a brown pot. “We would have brought wine,” she explains, “but everything we possibly could have brought would be much worse than anything you’re used to buying.”

“The flower’s lovely,” he assures her, though he’s been known to neglect even the hardiest of cacti until they gave up. “You’ll have to tell me how to take care of it.”

“Of course, we’ve both got rather green thumbs,” says Merlin. “We can help whenever you need it. Do we get a tour of your flat now?”

“Yes, dinner’s just staying warm on the stove.” And he’s finally managed to get all his things unpacked, so his flat isn’t a disaster. It still feels rather unlived-in, but that will come with time, no doubt. “Feel free to hang your coats up with mine,” he adds, mostly to watch the near-identical face they make at his having actual coat pegs.

His flat’s larger than theirs by quite a margin, but neither of them seems to mind, so he doesn’t waste time feeling guilty over it. Their couch is undoubtedly more comfortable anyway, since he let Morgana decorate his flat when he first got it rather than picking everything out himself for function rather than form. Freya and Merlin’s walls of posters and random bits of decoration make his own flat look empty, but they seem to enjoy the tour and grin at each other at random sometimes (and always at the same times, they’re eerily in sync).

“Dinner should be ready, I hope you like soup,” he says when he’s done, finally remembering to take the apron off and dump it on a chair he isn’t using (it’s not frilly, nor does it have “Kiss the Cook” written on it, but it’s embarrassing nonetheless). “Settle in, I’ll bring the pot over in a minute.”

Arthur leaves them to their conversation while he tastes the soup one last time and adds a bit more pepper. When he comes back to the table, they break off their conversation so abruptly that it’s obvious they were talking about him. He raises his eyebrows and does his best not to look as self-conscious as he feels, and must succeed to some extent because both of them relax. “We were talking about you,” Merlin admits, “but I promise it was only good things.”

“I’ll pretend I believe you.” He serves out the soup and the bread, and Freya stops him with a hand on his arm before he can sit down. “Sorry, did I forget something?”

“We really weren’t saying anything awful,” she says, eyes so wide and earnest it’s hard not to believe her. She must have been a terror for getting her own way as a child, he thinks, and falls into the trap anyway. “We wouldn’t do that with you right in the room.”

“We save being catty for the walk home,” Merlin contributes, and Arthur relaxes. That, at least, he can believe. “Now would you sit down? You don’t have to be some sort of Stepford host.”

That, thank God, gets Merlin and Freya arguing amiably over what version of _The Stepford Wives_ is best (the original, clearly, but Merlin seems to have some sort of inexplicable crush on Nicole Kidman that puts him past all reason), and the conversation moves on, nothing awkward from there. Arthur gets in a heated argument with Merlin about whether robots or aliens are more interesting in science fiction (Merlin gets points with Asimov, but Arthur still thinks aliens win overall) while Freya wonders aloud what it is about boys and spaceships. Merlin parries by making mock of something she reads, something about dragons in space that Arthur doesn’t follow, and from there it’s easy to move from subject to subject as they eat.

It’s eleven before Freya checks her phone and curses. “I meant to get us out an hour ago, sorry, Arthur. I’ve got errands to run in the morning.”

Merlin grimaces at the wreckage of the table. “We also meant to help you with the dishes.”

“That’s not a problem.” Arthur takes a cue to stand up. “There’s a wonderful thing called a dishwasher, we posh people are sometimes equipped with them. I shouldn’t have kept you so late anyway.”

“We’re glad to spend time with you.” Freya goes about stacking the bowls up while Merlin clears a few other things off the table. Arthur blinks and stands a beat too late, just in time to put the wine away and the glasses in the sink—those he doesn’t trust to his dishwasher. “And we’ll do it again,” she adds when he turns away from the sink to find her standing right behind him.

Arthur blinks at her, a little tired now that he knows what time it is. “Of course we will.” It’s not so much a forgone conclusion as all that—other than Leon and Morgana and Gwen it’s rare he spends time having just one or two of his friends for dinner, or going over to their places either—but it _feels_ like one.

“Good.” She’s out of his personal space in a second, shepherding Merlin away from where he’s got distracted by Arthur’s scant bookshelf (he seems to be scoffing at the presence of Walt Whitman) and into his coat. “One of us will call you soon, then, or you call us.”

Merlin grins at him. “You’re stuck with us now, Arthur.”

“I don’t mind in the least.” For some reason, that makes them both laugh a little, sharing one of those private looks, but before he can ask, there’s a flurry of goodnights and someone’s warm lips against his cheek—alarmingly, he’s not quite sure whose, as someone else is giving his hand a squeeze at the same time. “Don’t talk about me too much on the way home,” he says as they’re opening the door.

Freya’s smile crinkles her nose up. “I’m sure we’ll talk of nothing else,” she counters, and then they’re out the door, leaving him with his kitchen a mess and feeling even more confused than before.

*

Mithian has always loved throwing dinner parties (and tea parties, his first memory of her is being six and uncomfortably stuffed into a suit while she calmly poured out the tea for them both with jam-sticky hands and then proceeded to do the same for a teddy bear, her mother’s precious heirloom porcelain doll, and her imaginary friend). The first one after Arthur comes home seems like quite a production after two years in California where everyone does finger food appetizers and wine instead of sitting their guests down at fancy parties—Mithian has a roast on the table, key lime pie in the refrigerator, and jazz playing quietly on her stereo.

Everyone’s in the spirit of the thing, from Elena turning up in a blouse and skirt (the hem already ripped) to Morgana in what Arthur suspects is a silk dress to Merlin in another of his omnipresent sweater vests. Even Percival’s in the spirit of things, though his biceps are threatening to burst his sleeves. Arthur feels a bit like he’s playacting, but for once everyone else is too, giggling and snapping pictures with their phones. Gwaine produces a monocle from somewhere and spends the entirety of dinner calling everyone “old boy” amidst much hilarity.

For once, Arthur feels as if everything is back to normal, nearly the same as it was before he left London even with Gwen’s new maternity dress and Merlin and Freya added to the group, and he enjoys the night more than he was expecting at the beginning. By the time they finish dinner, he’s pleasantly tipsy and full, grinning around the table as Mithian steals Gwaine’s monocle and Leon stares at her like a besotted schoolboy and Vivian giggles, possibly over that and possibly over whatever Gwaine keeps whispering in her ear.

At the end of dinner, Merlin and Freya insist on clearing up and helping Mithian with the dishes, and with everyone else at the table engrossed in their own conversations (including Mithian, who keeps protesting at Freya and Merlin’s helpfulness every time they take a load of dishes but doesn’t stop chatting to Elyan about some new art exhibit at the gallery where she works), Arthur decides to get up and help. Morgana gives him a suspicious look, but he just ignores her. She doesn’t know best all the time, after all, and it isn’t as if he’s given any thought at all to breaking Merlin and Freya up.

When he gets to the kitchen, Arthur stops in the doorway. The music is louder in there, playing some old big band tune he thinks he vaguely recognizes from a film or two, and Merlin and Freya are dancing. Well, he realizes after a moment, Freya is dancing, twirling expertly under Merlin’s hands, up on her toes, and Merlin is gamely attempting to follow in the manner of one who has only seen swing dancing in the movies and not had endless ballroom dancing classes inflicted on them.

“May I cut in?” Arthur asks before he can think about it, and without missing a beat Freya twirls into his arms, ready for ballroom position in time for a new musical phrase. He grins at her and takes her through a few of the maneuvers he remembers from the classes his father insisted he and Morgana take so as to impress people at his parties. Mithian’s kitchen is too small for a lot of them, but he still manages to get a few good spins in.

Merlin hops up to sit on one of Mithian’s counters, phone out, not minding in the least that Arthur is monopolizing his girlfriend. Arthur gives him a nod in the middle of a spin and makes himself dizzy as a consequence, he and Freya staggering together a few steps to the side before he hits the wall to lean for a moment. She leans up against him, natural as anything and laughing up at him, as the music changes over to something a bit more sedate.

“What on earth is going on in here?” Mithian asks from the doorway of her kitchen, bemused. “Has a Gene Kelly movie suddenly broken out?”

“It’s your own fault,” says Merlin, hopping off the counter and busying himself at the sink. “You chose the soundtrack.”

Freya smiles at Arthur and finally steps out of his personal space. “You’re a good dancer.”

“Not as good as you, it took quite a few lessons for me to get the hang of things. Though I mostly blame Morgana for attempting to lead all the time.”

Merlin laughs. “She would.”

“I took every dance class I could find for ages,” says Freya, starting the water while Mithian organizes the dishes to be washed. “I was going to be a ballerina, but swing was always one of my favorites too.”

“Ballerina to veterinarian is an interesting transition,” Arthur says, rummaging through Mithian’s drawer of leftover containers to put the rest of the food away.

Freya launches into the story, with frequent embellishments and commentary from Merlin, and Arthur laughs in all the right places and tries not to notice the way Mithian is looking at him, a little confused and a little concerned. Arthur excuses himself when Freya finishes talking, since Merlin and Mithian are washing and Freya is drying and he feels rather superfluous. The party’s still going strong in the dining room, where Gwaine seems to be attempting to act out a scene from some Merchant Ivory film all on his own, playing three parts at once.

Morgana sidles over to him under the cover of Gwaine pledging his tearful love to a potted plant in a wavery falsetto. “The kitchen seems like the place to be right now,” she says.

“Leave it.” She raises her eyebrows, because she’s never let anything go in her life. “Anything you can say I promise I’ve already thought. Be careful, don’t break up the best couple you know, whatever it is, I _know_.” Elyan’s a bit too near for Arthur to be entirely comfortable having this conversation, but he’s at least discreet, if he knows what they’re talking about.

“You can’t blame a sister for worrying about her baby brother, can you, Arthur?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Six months, Morgana, for God’s sake, and yes, I can. I was off in California for two years doing God-knows-what, or don’t you remember?” He never got infatuated with both members of a long-term relationship there, but there were plenty of inadvisable decisions nonetheless.

“I didn’t have a front-row seat for that. And I didn’t care about anyone else involved, then.” Morgana straightens his collar, apparently askew after his dance session in the kitchen. “Don’t do anything stupid, that’s all I ask.”

“It’s like you don’t trust me at all.”

Gwaine, thank God, chooses that moment to do something especially outrageous, and Arthur allows himself to be distracted and to ignore the way Morgana looks between him and the kitchen a few more times before drifting back to Gwen, who’s already yawning. When Gwaine finishes his theatrics, the party starts breaking up, and Arthur leaves soon after Morgana escorts Gwen out and Leon excuses himself, pleading an early morning.

When Arthur gets home and checks his e-mail, there’s one waiting with a photo attachment from Merlin: a picture of Arthur grinning down at Freya as he lifted her right off the ground, an answering smile on Freya’s face.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been this confused in his _life_.

*

Gwen calls a week after Mithian’s dinner party. “So, there’s this great guy I work with,” she starts, and then keeps talking over Arthur’s groan. “He’s charming and good-looking and might have possibly seen your picture while peeking over my shoulder at your Facebook and I might possibly have told him that I would try to set you up on a blind date?”

“Has Morgana been talking to you?”

He can almost hear Gwen’s surprised blink. “Well, we live together, but about you, no. Should we have been? I just feel like you’ve been a bit lonely since you came back, and Gilli’s really lovely.”

Arthur ignores her first question. “You’ve already set it up, haven’t you?”

Gwen laughs nervously. “Would you happen to be free on Wednesday evening?”

That’s how Arthur ends up walking into a strange pub on a Wednesday when he otherwise would have been relaxing in front of his television or maybe out with his friends (Leon, Percival, and Vivian are off to see some independent film Arthur wouldn’t have minded tagging along to). Gwen sent him a picture of Gilli, so he recognizes him, but in person all he can think of is that Gilli reminds him of Merlin, which isn’t the best foot to be getting off on. Arthur puts it firmly down to the ears and goes about attempting to be charming.

Gilli’s good company (not that he would expect Gwen to set him up with someone awful), if a little combative about politics and inclined to assume the worst of Arthur’s thoughts on such things, but Arthur still can’t help comparing him to Merlin. It’s not the looks so much; he sees plenty of lanky dark-haired men any given day, including his own personal assistant. It’s more that he and Merlin seem to be passionate about similar things, and prone to a few of the same little quirks, and they’re both interested in science. There’s no Freya there to mitigate the occasional awkward moments where the discussion gets a little too heated on some subject or other, though, leaving Arthur to back off uncomfortably and remind himself to live in the moment. Eventually, they hit upon talking about their favorite books, something Arthur enjoys and something Gilli has different taste than Merlin in (not to mention good taste), and he relaxes as much as he’s able.

At the end of the night, he and Gilli stand outside the pub door in the manner of all couples who aren’t quite sure if the first date has gone well enough for a kiss. Arthur isn’t quite feeling the interest, but it isn’t as if Gilli isn’t perfectly nice. “So,” says Gilli after a few seconds of silence, “are we getting together again? Or shall one of us explain to Gwen that we aren’t compatible?”

Arthur grimaces. “The latter, I’m afraid. I’d love to catch a coffee and keep talking about Whitman, nobody on this side of the ocean seems to read him as much as I’d like, but just as friends, if you’re willing.”

Gilli shrugs. “I can’t see any reason why not—this was a long shot, and all, and I don’t know if I could sleep with you knowing you think _Top Gear_ is good television.”

“Oi!” Arthur laughs, relieved. “Good, then, you seem great and I’d hate to leave you in the lurch. Not to mention disappointing Gwen like that is even more hazardous now that she’s pregnant.” When Gilli looks disapproving, Arthur hastens to explain. “Only because my sister is even more protective of her than usual, none of that hormone rot.”

From there, it’s easy to say goodnight with a handshake and a clap on the back, and Arthur starts walking back towards his flat, taking the long way round since it’s still relatively early and it’s a nice night. Halfway there, he texts Merlin on a whim. _Were you related to my blind date? The ears are uncanny._

His phone rings a few seconds later, and when he picks it up, Merlin is laughing. “Why the hell are you calling from your blind date? That’s poor form.”

“Date’s over, it didn’t work out. I’m walking home right now.”

There’s a little pause. “That’s too bad. That it didn’t work out, I mean. Any particular reason?”

Despite what Arthur can only interpret as flirting, he doesn’t think Merlin would appreciate Arthur admitting he couldn’t get him or his girlfriend out of his mind all through the evening. “Didn’t click, is all. It was Gwen’s idea, anyway. I’m perfectly happy with the way things are.”

“What, don’t want to settle down into happy domesticity?”

“With the right person, I suppose.” It’s odd watching all his friends settled, but he can’t deny he sometimes envies Gwen and Morgana their happiness, or Merlin and Freya their ease with each other. “Gilli just wasn’t it.”

“Don’t give up, then. You don’t have to compromise.” There’s an odd noise over Merlin’s side of the line, and then the sound of Freya giggling. “Sorry, we’re attempting to make frosting, we wanted cupcakes, and we can’t get the mixer working right. Want to come over and eat away your sorrows?”

Arthur looks at the clock on his phone, but it’s nearing nine, and by the time he got over there and stayed a while he would just be wearing himself out for work. “I’m afraid I can’t, though I wish I could.”

“Arthur can’t come,” says Merlin, muffled like he’s turned away, and then comes back like normal after Freya says something in the background. “She says we’ll save some icing for you, you’ll have to come over and hang out this weekend.”

Arthur is struck by a sudden, _vivid_ image of Merlin and Freya covered with frosting, and it takes him a second to get his voice back. “Perhaps I shall. Morgana’s got me Friday night to help build shelves in the baby’s room, but I’m free Saturday.” Even if it means Morgana will spend all of Friday night judging him silently.

“Saturday, then. Come on over anytime, weekends tend to be quiet here. Have a good night, Arthur.”

“You too,” he says, and hangs up to the sound of Freya starting to laugh again on the other end of the line.

The walk home seems less nice after that, a little lonely, but Arthur ignores it and gets back in time to read until he falls asleep.

*

Arthur’s got a meeting with an old business partner of his father’s Friday morning, in an office halfway across the city. On his way back, he realizes he’s close to the neighborhood where Freya works and it’s nearly lunchtime, so he takes a chance and texts her. He promised, after all, and even if he’s going to spend time with her and Merlin on Saturday he doesn’t know when next he’ll make it over to her side of the city.

Her return text doesn’t come for fifteen minutes, when he’s already most of the way to the nearest Tube station to head back to his office or find something else to eat. _sorry, was in the middle of something. Still free?_

Arthur calls her, in the interests of expediency. “Are you on break? The office isn’t expecting me for a while, I can meet you somewhere.”

“There’s a sandwich shop right next door to me, so I can meet you there easily. I’d go farther afield, show you this great Ethiopian place I know, but I don’t think I have the time.”

“Sandwiches are fine,” he assures her. “What else do you think they eat in America?”

Freya laughs. “Poor thing. I’ll text you the address, okay? GPS is probably faster than me giving directions.”

“Probably.” Merlin’s always teasing her for the way she gives directions in a way nobody can understand except in retrospect, and Morgana has given independent corroboration. “I’ll see you in a few, then.”

When she texts, he starts off at a good clip towards the restaurant—starting towards the Tube was a bad idea, clearly, because it’s going to take an effort to get there and still have enough time for a proper lunch, what with the probable length of her lunch break. Still, it only takes a few bits of jaywalking and shouldering a few passerby out of the way to get to where she’s standing out in front of the shop, wrapped up in a red jacket that makes her stand out in the crowd even though she’s on the short side.

“You should have told me earlier you were going to be around,” she says while she hugs him hello. “I would have wheedled my way into more time off.”

“I honestly didn’t realize until I was on my way over, and then I was in the middle of a phone call to the office. Shall we?”

“Of course.” Freya tugs him by the arm into the restaurant like it’s the most natural thing in the world—like she does to Merlin, and a little stronger and more insistent than Arthur expects—and directs him to a table of her choosing. “I’ll go order if you hold our table. What would you like?” Arthur goes for his wallet on instinct, only to be forestalled by her hand on his shoulder. “I said when you came to me it would be my treat, didn’t I? What do you want?”

Arthur knows how to acquiesce gracefully, at least sometimes. No matter what Morgana says. “Nothing with roast beef, I’ve had it too much this past week, it was on sale the last time I shopped for groceries. I’m not terribly picky, no allergies.”

Freya laughs. “No beef, got it. I’ll be back in a tick.”

There’s an older woman a few tables back who gives Arthur an approving smile when he happens to catch her eye, and he can’t help the blush that suffuses his cheeks out of nowhere. Of course people are going to assume Freya’s his girlfriend when it’s just the two of them out, and there’s really no reason to feel awkward about it—hell, someone thought Gwen was his wife the last time he went out to the shops with her without Morgana in tow—but he squirms anyway, as if she’ll somehow know. The woman just looks indulgent and goes back to whatever she’s doing—a crossword puzzle, by the looks of it.

It only takes Freya about five minutes to come back with two sandwiches and a basket of chips, even though the shop is moderately busy. “I know the boy working,” she explains. “Well, Merlin does, he was a mentor for a while before he got so busy at the labs—like the big brother programs, you know?”

“Yes, I’m familiar with them, I’m pretty sure Morgana was involved in something like it.” God knows why anyone let Morgana anywhere near impressionable young minds. Somewhere out there is a teenager preparing to be a supervillain. “It’s possible she was doing it to impress Gwen, in all fairness.”

“I’ve heard stories. I suppose you’d have a different perspective on them, having watched the whole affair from the beginning, but they seem to be terribly perfect for each other.”

“No more than you and Merlin.”

Freya nudges his foot with her own under the table and pushes the basket of chips closer to his side of the table. “Maybe so, maybe not. That’s not a lunch discussion, though. I just want you to tell me all the sordid teenage tales about those two pining after each other.”

Arthur has no idea what she means by the first half of that, so he focuses on the second, relaxing into a mode he gets to pull out often—before he left London, it was his right and privilege to tell Gwen and Morgana’s story to anyone new entering their group of friends. “We all met when Morgana and I were ten and Gwen was eleven,” he starts, and tells an abbreviated version of the proper story in between bites of his sandwich (something with chicken and pesto that tastes like California, or at least the parts of it he misses), pleased to focus on Morgana’s phase of thick eyeliner and writing terrible poetry in Gwen’s honor, some of it in French. He plans to read some in his speech if they ever decide to have a commitment ceremony or marriage.

By the end of lunch, Freya is laughing and undoubtedly over her break, but she doesn’t seem in any hurry as she puts her coat on and rummages around in her purse for what looks like a key. “This was wonderful,” she says once they’ve walked back out into the chill and are standing where they’ll have to part ways. “I hope you find your way back to this side of town again eventually.”

“I’m certain I will,” he assures her. He oughtn’t. His conscience, which sounds annoyingly like Morgana, is telling him to cut back on the time he spends with Merlin and Freya before he does something unforgivably stupid, but he can’t quite make himself do it. Not when they both seem to truly enjoy his company.

“Good.” Freya anchors her hand on his shoulder, easy as breathing, and kisses him on the mouth. It’s not long, but it’s not just a peck either, like he gets from Mithian or Elena. It’s a proper kiss, soft and slow and faintly garlicky from one of their lunches, the same kind she gives Merlin when they happen to pass in a room. He kisses back for just a second before remembering himself and pulling back, horrified. Freya looks startled, like perhaps she just forgot she wasn’t having lunch with Merlin. “Arthur—”

“Shit.” He takes a few steps back, running into someone as he doesn’t look where he’s going. “Shit, Freya, I’m so sorry, God.”

“No, Arthur, really, it’s—”

“I’ve got to go.” He jerks around, turns away from the hurt on her face, because he can’t do this. Morgana was right, Merlin and Freya are the perfect couple and both of them are wonderful and even if Merlin forgives him for this it’s only going to be another step on the slippery slope to getting his heart broken.

Freya doesn’t follow him, but she does say his name a few times, and texts him before he gets to the Tube. _please call_ is all it says, and he ignores it, glad when he loses the signal getting across town.

After he gets off and gets back into his office, he checks his phone again to find four more messages from Freya, a voicemail from her, and two texts from Merlin. He deletes them all without reading, but when another comes in from Merlin just before he goes back to work he can’t resist opening it. _We still want you to come over tomorrow night. Please. It’s okay._

Arthur doesn’t get anything done for the rest of the day.

*

Gwen takes one look at him that night and finds an urgent need for Morgana to go out to the shops and get “those biscuits, you know the ones, Morgana, the chocolate ones that don’t get too crumby, you’re the only one who can ever find them.” Morgana, whose ability to stand up to Gwen shrinks proportionally as Gwen’s pregnancy progresses, leaves after a glare at Arthur. Gwen waits until she’s down on the street before turning a steely look on Arthur. “Out with it. Something’s the matter.”

Arthur squirms, but Gwen’s one of his best friends, and the one he’s always confided in even more than Morgana (who is terrible at sympathy) and Leon (who is terrible at expressing sympathy). Besides, if he’s ruined things with Merlin and Freya, he’ll have to own up to it sometime. “I might have fucked things up. Sort of a lot.”

“Oh? How so?” She looks briefly hopeful. “I don’t suppose you mean you fucked up by not asking Gilli out again?”

“No, I …” It might almost be easier to tell this to Morgana. For one thing, she doesn’t expect the best of him, and for another, she knows more of the background than Gwen does, since she’s been warning him off exactly this situation practically since he came back from California. “Freya kissed me.”

Gwen blinks a few times. “Freya? Our Freya? Merlin’s girlfriend Freya?”

Arthur winces. “Yes, that’s the one. We had lunch, and she kissed me.”

“Why did she do that?”

Arthur waves his hands about in a manner that is probably not at all explanatory. “I don’t know! It wasn’t the first time we’d had lunch, or she and Merlin and I had dinner at one or the other of our places, and I know they’re the perfect couple, I’m honestly not trying to break them up.”

Gwen puts a hand on his arm, eyebrows still up high like she can’t help it. “I never said you were, Arthur, for heaven’s sake. What happened after she kissed you?”

“I sort of apologized and ran off. And then she and Merlin texted me a great deal and I’m still meant to go to dinner there tomorrow night.”

She bites her lip. “That might be best. To talk things out, and all. It was probably just an honest mistake.” She pauses. “Do you _like_ Freya?”

“Yes, because we’re thirteen again.” He tries to sound sarcastic but thinks he fails by the way Gwen starts looking a little pitying. “It’s not that simple, Gwen. It’s not … I mean, yes, I do, but it’s bigger than that.”

“You think you’re in love with her?” she hazards.

“Not … bigger in that sense. It’s her, and Merlin, and both of them together, and I have no idea if it’s just because they’re both my type and lovely, or because they’re something that hasn’t changed while I was away because I didn’t know them before, or what the hell is going on. I mean, it’s not exactly normal to be infatuated with two people who are in a relationship with each other and not want to break it up.”

Gwen wraps her arms around him. “I don’t think it’s because they haven’t changed. That doesn’t seem like you, to take the easy way about things. As for loving two people, what do you think happened with me that first year at university with Morgana and Lancelot?”

“But you _chose_. And they weren’t together.”

“Look, if you want my advice, then go to dinner with them tomorrow. Tell them what you’ve told me—”

“I’m vetoing this plan already.” Gwen glares at him, probably because Morgana’s spoiling her and she isn’t used to being interrupted anymore. “They’re probably having me over tomorrow to say they’ve worked out whatever relationship problem they have that made Freya kiss me and they do hope I’ll still be friends with them and it won’t be too awkward, which is exactly what they should do. I don’t want to muck that up.”

“It’s not fair to you, though. What do you want, Arthur?”

Odd, impossible things. Or at least things he hasn’t heard of lasting for more than one night at a time. “Ideally, for everyone to be happy.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything at all, and you know it.” He shrugs, helpless. Not much shocks Gwen, he knows that (he’s the one she called when she wanted to try out knots to use on Morgana, after all. They might not have the most normal of sibling-in-law relationships, now that he thinks about it), but he doesn’t really know what he wants. “Look, this isn’t meant to be the Spanish Inquisition. Just know that there’s always options, no matter what you end up deciding. And you’re all good people, so I know you won’t ruin things, or whatever other stupid thing you’re thinking.”

Arthur groans and leans into her shoulder. “Dinner tomorrow is going to be horrible.”

“Or amazing.”

Before he can ask under what circumstances precisely dinner could possibly be amazing given the massive fucking elephant in the room, Morgana bursts through the door, chocolate biscuits in hand and a wild look in her eyes. She points at Arthur. “You. If you are not going to confide in me, you are going to build me shelves. No shirking, no whining.”

“It’s not as if she won’t tell you after I leave,” says Arthur. He has no illusions of privacy, Morgana when she wants information is like a dog with a bone. “But yes, by all means, let’s stop talking about me and build shelves, I can’t have my niece live in a shoddy nursery.”

Morgana spends the whole evening staring at him suspiciously, like the way he hammers a few cheerily-painted boards together and then puts them on the wall will give her some secret insight into what’s bothering him. Gwen spends the whole evening looking at him like she’s worried he’s going to do something stupid the second he leaves, like get on a plane back to California or tell Merlin and Freya he’s removing himself from their lives for their own benefit (as if he would, Arthur’s the first to admit that he’s selfish). On the whole, it’s one of the more awkward evenings he’s spent, but he keeps his mouth shut about it and makes sure the shelves he puts up will hold no matter what Gwen and Morgana put on top of them.

For all she’s annoyed with him, Morgana knows Arthur well enough to give him a tight hug when he leaves and then go to the bedroom where she can pretend not to eavesdrop while Gwen says goodnight. Gwen, after shaking her head a few times and giving him a hug, finally seems to decide on something to say. “Trust them to want you to be happy as well.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be that simple.”

“Sometimes things are simpler than they seem,” she counters, and pushes him out the door.

*

Merlin answer the door, and Arthur is half-expecting a punch to the jaw instead of the encouraging smile he gets. “Good, you came. We were really hoping. Come in, please.”

“You’re not going to punch me, are you?”

Merlin snorts, and for a second it’s as if everything is normal and Arthur never kissed Merlin’s girlfriend. “Come on, do you really think I could get a punch in on you of all people? I’m stronger than I look, but I still wouldn’t dare.”

“At the very least, I owe you an apology.”

“God, it’s like you’re determined to martyr yourself. Would you at least come in and sit down and let us explain? We made risotto.” Of course they still made him dinner. Arthur obeys, dropping his jacket on the floor and leaving his shoes on in case he needs to make a quick run for it. Freya’s standing by the table, looking a little nervous and more dressed up than he’s expecting, in some sort of dress and leggings and a cardigan that looks unfairly soft. Merlin, now that he’s thinking about it, is dressed a little sharper than usual as well, for no particular reason Arthur can fathom. “Okay, sit,” Merlin says firmly when Arthur doesn’t move, shutting the door.

Arthur sits and starts talking before one of them can. “I’m terribly sorry about yesterday, to both of you. It was disrespectful of you and your relationship, which is the last thing I want, and I do hope we can move past it.”

Freya leans on the table instead of sitting and grabs Merlin’s hand. “I kissed you, remember? You’ve got nothing to apologize for. I do—we do, actually.”

“I’m a bit miffed with her, actually,” Merlin says in the tone of one endeavoring to keep his tone light. “She had to spend all last night making it up to me.”

Arthur tries valiantly not to let the images that brings up distract him. He has no idea why they’re out to torture him, but he won’t allow it to work. “You have every right to be angry with us, Merlin, as I said—”

“It’s only that we agreed we’d do it when all three of us were together.” Arthur shuts his mouth with an audible snap. “It’s really not fair that she got to go first and I didn’t get to go right after.”

Freya takes over, apparently taking his stunned silence as a good thing. “You see, yesterday wasn’t about me making some mistake because things with us aren’t good. We’ve talked about it, wanted to—want to. We want to be with you, but only if you’d like it too.”

“Be with me. For … a night? An experiment or something?” Arthur is not entirely sure he isn’t hallucinating this entire encounter.

“If that’s what you’re comfortable with,” says Merlin. “But no, not an experiment. We’ve talked about it since the first night we met you and we’ve only been liking you more, so we thought … it’s not normal, but, well. It doesn’t have to be, does it? Not if it works.”

Arthur can’t quite manage to answer that, so Freya jumps in again. “Not just a night. For as long as all three of us can stand each other, ideally. We _fit_.”

His response to information he can’t take as a whole has always been to break it down into pieces, one of the more useful skills he learned from his father. With both of them watching hopefully, he takes a second to think over the last few weeks, the way Merlin and Freya always seem to be flirting, often with him, and how he couldn’t quite write it off as a quirk of their personalities because they didn’t seem to do it with anyone else but each other, and the way they both seek him out whenever they’ve got the excuse and sometimes when they don’t. Even the way Merlin sounded relieved when Arthur’s date with Gilli didn’t go well. “We’ve only known each other a few weeks,” he points out.

Merlin, after exchanging a quick look with Freya, reaches out and puts his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. It’s warm and big, and Arthur thinks of the flour on Freya’s back the first night he had dinner at their apartment. “We’re not expecting you to commit ten years right now, Arthur. We know that you haven’t known us as long as we’ve known each other, we know it will be an adjustment for all three of us. But we’ve already had a few dates. Not official dates, I guess, but dinners and lunches and stuff. They’ve gone well. And we wanted to get to know you before we brought this up, because it isn’t exactly the most conventional of things.”

“No, do you think so?” Arthur rubs a hand over his eyes and tries to get a handle on things. “I’ve been beating myself up over wanting both of you practically since we met, and Morgana’s scolded me for possibly trying to break you up and possibly just trying to get my heart broken, you’ll have to excuse me if this is all rather a shock.”

Freya sounds like she’s trying to keep from laughing when she answers. “Morgana thinks you’d break us up, or that we’d let you? She needs more imagination.”

“I think Gwen might have guessed.” He forces himself to look at them. Much as he’d love to have this whole conversation with his face buried in his hands he thinks he would miss out on some of the nuance. “Though maybe she thought it was wishful thinking on my part.”

“Rather the opposite.” Merlin removes his hand, and Arthur does his best not to lean towards him. He’s too off-balance for anything to make sense, not when he’s being handed this on a silver platter, all in his control for as long as he wants it. “You don’t have to decide tonight. We can eat risotto and pretend none of this happened and you can call whenever or come over if you want to talk about it more. It isn’t as if we’re actively seeking someone to be with us. Just you.”

Arthur takes a deep breath. He needs to have all his wits about him to navigate this particular conversation, but his cock seems to have finally taken an interest in the proceedings and it’s rather difficult to remind himself to be rational. “Okay, I’ll …” Both of their eyes go wide, and he thinks he sees Freya’s knuckles whiten where she’s holding Merlin’s hand. “I’ll stay for dinner,” he says, and tries not to wince when they look disappointed and a little relieved at once. This must be terrifying for them, too, but he’s got little sympathy; at least they have each other’s hands to hold. “And I think, and we’ll talk, and afterwards … either I’ll leave, or I won’t.”

Freya smiles and ducks her head. “So it’s on the table?”

“Yes, it’s definitely … on the table.”

“Good, we cleaned the bedroom.” Merlin doesn’t seem as nonchalant as he’s obviously trying to be, but Arthur appreciates it nonetheless—though the thought is enough to make his trousers even more uncomfortable. “Now, anticlimax aside, would you like some dinner? It’ll give us all a little breathing space.”

“Dinner. Yes, absolutely.” Arthur clears his throat. “Though I may use your loo first, if you don’t mind.” Like clockwork, both of them look down to where the table is thankfully shielding his lap from view. He does his best not to mind how obvious he’s being. “I need a minute to collect myself.”

Freya coughs and lets go of Merlin’s hand. “Of course. We’ll finish setting the table, and such. Take all the time you need.”

Arthur escapes before they can say anything else, and doesn’t look at them because he doubts his ability to make it to the bathroom if he does. He definitely needs to think for a moment before he commits himself to anything. Once in the bathroom, he locks the door and takes his phone out before he thinks the better of it. He needs a voice of sanity, so he calls Gwen, who already knows something of what’s going on.

Unfortunately, Gwen doesn’t answer her phone. Morgana does. “You need to stop monopolizing my partner,” she says. “Aren’t you supposed to be pining? And possibly kissing people’s girlfriends? I suppose that’s why you called mine.”

“You shouldn’t answer other people’s phones, and don’t be ridiculous.” Perhaps, in the end, it’s better that Morgana picked up. At least he can always count on her to set him straight. “They just … does it still count as kissing someone’s girlfriend if the boyfriend wants to kiss you too? I think at a certain point it counts as all three of you being girlfriend and boyfriends. I’m not certain how these things are meant to go, to be honest.”

There’s a pause. “Arthur, are you _drunk_?”

“No, though it might make this conversation somewhat easier, I suppose. They just propositioned me.” She chokes but doesn’t comment. “Or asked me to date them, or something, but the proposition seems the more urgent thing.”

“Are _they_ drunk?”

“For God’s sake, Morgana, nobody is drunk. Apparently the kissing yesterday was simply a precursor to this.” He gestures around the bathroom even though she can’t see him. “I’m still in their flat, I just needed to check that this was reality. It seems to be, despite your casting aspersions on our sobriety.”

“I’m still a little stuck, to be honest. Merlin and Freya are seducing you? Of all people?”

He sighs. “Apparently.”

Once again, he has to wait for her to produce an answer, this time over the sound of Gwen talking quietly, worried, in the background. He wonders if he’s on speaker phone. “That makes a lot of sense, actually,” Morgana decides eventually.

It’s Arthur’s turn to choke on nothing. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’d never seen them act the way they do with you with anyone before, so I suppose it makes sense, in its own sort of way. Wait, why are you calling us if you’re still there with two gorgeous willing people waiting to shag you into oblivion?”

Arthur’s erection, which had just about subsided while he dealt with his sister, makes a valiant recurrence. “Feed me risotto and then shag me into oblivion,” he corrects automatically.

“Two gorgeous people willing to fuck you at the same time who also cook for you and do God knows what else that’s disgustingly adorable? If I hadn’t known them before you I would worry you’d grown them in a lab.”

He makes a face. “Thank you for that neat summation of events. I should go, I’ve been in their bathroom quite long enough, but I just … do you think I should? You were so sure I was going to fuck everything up.”

“That was before I realized your terribly confused and repressed feelings were returned. Have at it, just don’t tell me any details. You’re all adults, and that means whatever you want it to mean—and three people in a relationship isn’t so uncommon as you might think, you prude. You just have to decide if the complications are worth it.”

Secrecy, complication, and the likelihood of being pitied as some sort of perpetual bachelor as long as this lasts against Freya’s quiet warmth, the way Merlin laughs when he thinks he’s being particularly clever, and the memory of the two of them dancing in Mithian’s kitchen. There’s no contest, really, in the end. “Okay. I’d best go. Thanks, Morgana.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she says, and he hangs up on her.

Arthur washes his hands for verisimilitude, but given the size of Merlin and Freya’s flat he doesn’t think he’s fooling anyone. When he comes out, prepared to face them having heard his whole excruciating side of that conversation, he instead finds them in the kitchen, Freya sitting on a counter and Merlin standing between her legs, both of them pink-cheeked and looking embarrassed. “Don’t stop on my account,” says Arthur, as dryly as he can.

Merlin takes him up on the challenge, of course, and cups Freya’s face in his hands to give her a long, slow kiss. They’re at the wrong angle for him to see much of what’s going on, but that doesn’t mean Arthur can’t hear the little noise she makes into Merlin’s mouth, the wet sounds of a _proper_ kiss, and by the time they pull apart he’s wondering if he should ignore the risotto altogether.

Neither of them, however, seems to have forgotten the meal, no matter that they got waylaid. “We figured that would be the best way to give you some privacy,” Merlin explains with a shrug when they finally pull apart, short of breath and grinning. “We tend to get distracted.”

Freya hops off the table and smoothes her clothes down. “Dinner?”

There’s no way Arthur can refuse that, not when he knows he still ought to take some time to think, so he swallows and nods and sits back down at the table to protect himself from the way Merlin’s still grinning, even more pointedly, and looking down at the tent in his trousers. “Dinner,” he confirms. “It smells delicious.” He hasn’t paid a bit of attention to how anything smells since he walked in, but it seems the thing to say.

Freya, still pink-cheeked, serves all three of them from the pot, and when Arthur finally collects himself enough to take a whiff, it does indeed smell amazing. Nobody serves wine, and Arthur doesn’t ask for it—none of them wants the excuse, or the worry, of alcohol clouding their judgment if they’re going to do this. Instead, they pass the most awkward dinner Arthur’s had in ages, worse than any conversation they’ve had before. Usually it flows freely, one subject to the next, but this time none of them seems to have any idea what to say for most of the meal, so aside from a few comments on the food and attempts to talk about what they did with their days before dinner they’re silent.

When they’ve finally all finished and put their plates in the sink to soak, Arthur finds both of them looking at him again. “I know we said we wouldn’t put pressure on you, and we won’t,” says Freya after they exchange a look, “but—”

“Yes,” he says before she can continue, and they both stop. “I’ll … I’d like to stay. I’d like to try. For tonight, for longer, for however long we can manage it with all the problems that are bound to result and how much mockery I’m due from Morgana and—”

“No.” Merlin’s in his space all of a sudden, his hand over Arthur’s mouth. “You can be terribly practical and worried _tomorrow_. If you’re staying tonight you don’t get to. You can say yes and still go home, though, if you want to get that out of your system first. It’s only the first date, after all.”

He doesn’t think he can leave now, not with the promise of sex with them hanging so close in the air. He gently pushes Merlin’s hand away from his face. “Well, I’ve always … I’ve always been easy.”

“Good,” says Merlin, and then: “May I kiss you? Since Freya got to go first?”

Arthur nods, and then there’s Merlin, still standing so close there’s hardly a breath between them, and then Merlin’s hands on his shoulders, and then Merlin’s lips on his. It’s been a year or so since he took a man home, and several women in between, so it’s odd to remember the feel of stubble scraping his chin and the hardness of the body pressing against his own. His mouth is soft and insistent—he kisses, Arthur thinks a little hysterically, like a scientist, like he’s gathering empirical data about what Arthur likes best and drawing conclusions, making plans.

“No fair,” says Freya after who-knows-how-long, and they pull apart. She’s behind Arthur, now, one hand over Merlin’s on his shoulder. “I didn’t get nearly as long yesterday.”

“You’ll have a chance to make it up,” Merlin assures her, smiling. “What do you say, Arthur? Shall we move this to the bedroom?”

“I think we’d better.” He’s surprised at how hoarse he sounds, but he doesn’t have time to think about that at all, with four hands on him, pushing him towards the bedroom he still hasn’t been inside.

*

Freya and Merlin’s bedroom is neat but cluttered—the bed is bigger than he’s expecting, large enough for all three of them if they don’t roll around too much, made up invitingly with what must be fresh sheets, and there are knickknacks and photos on the various surfaces. Arthur doesn’t take the time to look at them.

Freya plugs in a string of paper lanterns that cast an orange glow over the room and shuts the door behind them while Merlin goes to work unbuttoning Arthur’s shirt, knuckles brushing against his chest and stomach with every new one. Arthur helps him, more than willing to be undressed, and shrugs off the shirt when Merlin’s finished with it. Freya’s hands are at his hips, then, and she kisses his shoulder as she undoes the fastening on his trousers and pushes them down. “You still haven’t kissed me again,” he reminds her, more teasing than anything else.

Her face goes very grave nonetheless. “You’re right, of course. An oversight.” With that, she’s up on her toes, arms around his neck, and kissing him. Where Merlin had been almost gentle, if intense, Freya’s surprisingly rough, willing to use her teeth and press hard. She may look delicate, but she’s strong, and even though he’s gripping her waist with near-bruising force, he still feels as if she’s the one controlling the kiss.

Somewhere in the middle of it, Merlin’s hands snake around from behind, pulling at the buttons on Arthur’s shirt at what must be a terrible angle pressed between Arthur and Freya’s bodies. A second later, he seems to give that up and just props his chin on Arthur’s shoulder to whisper in his ear. “She’s really good at that.” It would be conversational, if he weren’t talking about his girlfriend’s tongue in Arthur’s mouth. “Sometimes we do it for hours. Just kissing, on the couch or the bed or wherever. You ought to join us, sometime, we’ve been talking about your mouth for _weeks_.”

Arthur moans before he can swallow the noise down, and Freya breaks the kiss long enough to smile up at him, then to capture Merlin’s mouth over his shoulder. He slides out from between them, but both of them catch him by the shirt before he can go far, hold him still to watch them together. “You could let me go far enough to let me strip, at least,” he says, quiet, not really expecting them to hear him over the way they’re wrapped up together.

“Why would we do that?” Merlin asks, pulling away from Freya and turning to him with eyebrows raised. “Do you want us to miss out on the fun?”

“But if you’re that impatient, it shouldn’t be a problem,” says Freya, and pushes gently at his shoulders till he sits down on the bed, entirely at loose ends with two pairs of hands on him, both of their attention focused on him at once instead of each other. It’s as terrifying a feeling as it is an amazing one.

Merlin sets to work on Arthur’s shoes and socks while Freya finishes unbuttoning his shirt, and it’s all Arthur can do just to move when they push him, lifting his feet or shrugging his shoulders. Freya kisses down his arm to his hand when she finishes, smiling coyly up at him and distracting him from the way Merlin’s gone for his fly, finishing by sucking two of his fingers into her mouth in a show so blatant it makes Merlin laugh into his thigh at how hard he goes.

“What do you want to do?” Merlin asks after a few seconds, while Freya’s still fellating Arthur’s fingers with a wicked look in her eye and Merlin’s still kneeling at Arthur’s feet.

“What, neither of you has an opinion?” Freya _sucks_ , and Arthur tries to keep his voice steady. “Well, maybe she does.”

Merlin toys with Arthur’s open fly, knuckles occasionally brushing his erection through his boxers. “We have plenty of opinions. God, we’ve been talking about this for _weeks_ , we want to do everything to each other, to you. We just don’t know what to do first.”

Freya finally relinquishes his hand to climb onto the bed next to him, hand planted against his chest and pushing. Arthur, still speechless from Merlin’s frank little speech, goes without protest, which allows Merlin to start stripping him out of his trousers and boxers. “Do you want to fuck me? Or him?” she asks, right in his ear, and Arthur closes his eyes because he’s fairly certain he’s going to die of sex. “Or he can fuck you, if you’d rather, we’ve got no idea what you like. Or we can go simpler, if you want—it’s the first time, after all. Just your mouth, and your hands, whatever you want. Whatever’s comfortable.”

There’s only so much a man can take. Arthur slides an arm around her shoulders, and God, she’s still dressed and Merlin’s got his trousers down around his knees, and kisses her. He’s still not all the way on the bed, and she’s half on top of him, but he doesn’t care, just kisses her as hot and as frantic as he’s feeling, wondering if either of them is as overwhelmed as he is. For a second, he loses contact with Merlin, there’s rustling and he thinks all his clothes are finally off, and then there’s miles of naked skin pressed up against the side Freya isn’t on, Merlin’s erection against Arthur’s side and Merlin’s hands insistently tugging him further up on the bed. “You’re hogging him again,” he complains, and Arthur pulls out of the kiss.

“I meant to help you out of your clothes,” he manages, turning to Merlin. He’s more broad-shouldered and muscled than his clothing tends to suggest, and it takes a second to drag his eyes up to meet Merlin’s. “Sorry.”

“Not at all. Would you get on the bed properly?” Arthur takes the opportunity to scoot up until his head’s somewhere in the vicinity of their pillows, and Merlin nods his satisfaction. “Good. Now I can monopolize you for a bit while Freya gets out of her clothes.”

Much as Arthur wants that, wants to fall into Merlin’s mouth and explore all the skin that’s just been exposed, he also doesn’t want the whole night to be them with him in the middle—it’s not what he wants this to be, not all the time, anyway. They all ought to have their turn, even and especially this first time. “Or we could help her. I’d like to.”

Merlin seems perfectly willing to roll with that. He gives Arthur one of his impish grins and then leans over him to grab Freya before she can sit up and sprawl her over both of their bodies. She laughs and Merlin kisses her and goes to work on her cardigan with the ease of long practice. Arthur rolls until he’s not trapped under her and starts pulling down her leggings. Her dress is twisted up and out of the way, leaving her naked as Arthur pushes her pants down along with her leggings, and Arthur kisses her thigh as he goes, trailing up to leave a mark on her hip. She clenches a hand in his hair, and when he looks up to smile at her, she’s kissing Merlin, half in his lap.

They get her horizontal and take her dress off her with the minimum of fuss, from there, and then pause with her in the middle, all three of them miraculously with their heads on the pillows, which smell like laundry detergent and the faintest hint of Freya’s shampoo. “I don’t know what I want to do,” Arthur admits into the sudden quiet. “Tonight, I mean. I haven’t precisely had time to plan the way the two of you have.” And even the few moments he’s allowed himself of imagining have ended quickly when he felt too guilty to let himself continue.

“That’s good,” Merlin says, and leans across Freya to kiss him, easy and quick. “I think you’re probably one of those people with a plan for everything, yeah? So this will be good for you. We’ll all just do what works, and if you don’t like it, say so.”

Arthur kisses him again, because that he knows how to do. It’s hard to steady himself with Freya between them, watching them with a pleased little smile on her face, but Merlin smiles against his mouth anyway, and after a few minutes pulls away to kiss Freya. Arthur takes his turn to lay back and watch them together, how easy they are with each other and how terribly obvious it is that they’re putting on a show, and it doesn’t take very long before Freya is turning to kiss him instead, a little gentler than earlier, rolling until their bodies are pressed together from shoulder to thigh with Merlin’s arm slung over both of them.

They trade kisses for God knows how long, making up for dates and dates worth of them. Merlin and Freya both kiss him more than they do each other, as if they’re trying to make up for already knowing each other’s bodies forward and backwards. After a while, Arthur can’t even keep his mind on which one of them is kissing him at any given time, or whose hands are touching him where.

Merlin, he realizes eventually, is rocking his hips against Freya, mouth open even when someone isn’t kissing him, getting lost in the pleasure. His eyes are closed, so Arthur nudges Freya until she opens her eyes in inquiry and then attempts to communicate through gestures and looks that something ought to be done about Merlin before long. She smiles and climbs over Merlin in answer, leaving him in the middle looking confused, blinking between them as if he’s just realizing they’re going to gang up on him.

Arthur grins at him before taking a chance and fastening his lips around Merlin’s nipple and sucking with a hint of teeth. Merlin makes a fraught noise and clamps a hand in his hair, so Arthur’s hope paid off, and he uses his hand for the other because he can’t be the only one who hates feeling lopsided during sex. He assumes Freya’s kissing her boyfriend until Merlin chokes out a “Jesus, _Freya_ ” above him and he looks down to find her sliding her mouth down over Merlin’s cock. She braces a hand on Arthur’s thigh and goes to work, eyes closed and using what must be tricks she’s learned over years with Merlin to get him off. Arthur stares, probably stupidly, until Merlin tugs a little on his hair. “You don’t have to be left out of the fun, you know.”

“Are you hinting?” He flicks Merlin’s nipple. “Do you want us both to blow you at the same time? Or shall I rim you? Finger you?” Freya moans, but he keeps his eyes on Merlin, who’s biting his lip and looking a little wild now. Arthur keeps his pleased grin to himself. At least he’s not the only one feeling overwhelmed.

“There’s lube under that pillow,” says Merlin after a heartfelt moan at something Freya’s doing with her tongue, and Arthur takes the hint. It’s new, never-used, and he raises his eyebrows as he uncaps it and slicks his fingers up. Merlin shrugs even as he arches his hips. “We like to be prepared.”

It’s hard working out the positions, when he tries, but he and Freya manage it with the minimum of fuss and bother and with Arthur pinning Merlin down at the hips so he stops shifting around. When they get it, though, it’s worth it, to see the look on Merlin’s face as Arthur slides one slick finger inside his arsehole and Freya gives an especially hard suck. She keeps a hand on him at all times and he bends to kiss her on the top of her head before he starts fingering her boyfriend (their boyfriend? God, this is all going to be a tangle to work out later) in earnest.

Merlin doesn’t take long to come, from there—though in all fairness Arthur thinks he’ll be done the moment they both get their hands on him, so he isn’t exactly planning to judge him for it. He manages a few garbled words that Freya seems to understand as warning, and then he’s tightening around Arthur’s fingers and coming into her mouth. She swallows most of it, making Arthur’s face go hot as he imagines how it must feel, and then she takes Arthur’s chin in her slippery hand and kisses him. He’s in control enough to make sure that when he pulls his fingers out of Merlin he’s gentle about it, but then he loses a few minutes to dedicating himself to kissing the taste of Merlin out of Freya’s mouth.

“The first night we talked about this,” Merlin says after he’s had a bit of a chance to recover, “Freya wondered what it would be like to have both our fingers inside of her at once. Do you still want to, Frey?”

The way she gasps into Arthur’s mouth, fingers clenching on his shoulder, is answer enough, so Arthur pulls away from her, smiling at Merlin as he sits up and helps to put Freya in the middle of the bed. She looks between them, like she’s waiting to see who’s going to start, and Merlin obliges by sliding a finger inside of her, whispering something in her ear as he does. Arthur lets them have at it for a moment and takes the opportunity to wipe his hand off on a handily-placed towel until it feels somewhat clean again.

“Distracted?” Merlin asks, and Arthur turns back to them. Merlin’s got two fingers inside Freya now, and she’s arching against him and panting a little.

“Just cleaning up.” Arthur takes his place on the opposite side of Freya from Merlin and kisses him before he settles in to what they’re doing, following Merlin’s guiding hand down to where Freya’s wet and wanting. It’s tight when he slides a finger in alongside Merlin’s, and their hands get tangled up together, but it’s worth it for the way Freya writhes with it, clutching at the bedsheets until they’re more hopelessly rumpled than they already were. She’s not loud, but then again, he would have been surprised if she were. Instead, she breathes loud and fast, just letting out the occasional high grunt.

She’s already tight, but Arthur tries to slip a second finger in along with Merlin’s and it goes in. It doesn’t leave much room left inside her to move, but she seems to like it anyway, throwing out one of her hands to latch on to Arthur’s elbow and _squeezing_. “Okay?” Merlin asks, though he’s smiling.

“Close, please, I’m close.”

Merlin turns to Arthur. “Watch, you’ll want to know this trick later.” Arthur nods, and Merlin bends to Freya’s breast, fingers moving all the while, licks up the underside and bites her nipple. Sure enough, that’s what it takes to send her over, tightening around them almost to the point of pain and her chest heaving. “Works every time,” says Merlin, easing his fingers out of her. Arthur follows suit, a little more reluctantly.

“Don’t be smug, you aren’t meant to be showing off,” says Freya, but she sounds too fond and breathless to be serious. Arthur kisses her shoulder to hide his smile, and she wraps a hand around the back of his neck like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Now we’ve got to figure out what to do with you.”

Merlin runs his hand down Arthur’s back. “He’s hard enough to hammer nails, that’s for sure. Okay there, Arthur?”

Arthur’s been doing a very good job of ignoring his erection, but now that he’s the only one of them left who hasn’t gotten off, it’s hard to think about anything else. “Wonderful.” Though if they don’t do something soon he’s afraid he’s going to come against the sheets, just off the friction of it.

“Good.” Freya’s still trembling a little with the aftereffects of the orgasm, or from how tight her muscles were wound with it, but she pushes at him and when he takes the hint and rolls to his back, six inches from falling off the bed, she climbs on top of him. Before he can say anything about a condom, she just shakes her head. “Not tonight, we can save you fucking me for another time. I’m a little sore. But we can …” She shifts her hips, and Arthur picks up the rhythm.

Merlin stays close while Arthur and Freya move against each other, touching Arthur’s cock and then dipping a finger inside Freya, whoever happens to be rubbing closest at any given moment. He’s mostly soft against Arthur’s side, still, but there’s the promise that he’ll be ready again soon in the way he shifts against Arthur and licks at his neck. Arthur closes his eyes and lets himself feel it, Freya’s slight form over him, all smooth skin and hair falling down to tickle him wherever it touches, and Merlin’s firm grip on his cock, and the touches he can’t figure out as well—someone’s hand brushing his hair out of his eyes, someone’s ankle hooked around his.

It would be embarrassing, how fast he comes, if it weren’t for the fact that the other two already have (Freya’s almost ready again, her hand between her own legs and her breath damp against Arthur’s neck, and Merlin’s hardening against his leg, and they’re going to kill Arthur in the best way possible). As it is, Merlin’s still grinning as he groans out a warning that turns into a choked noise when Freya’s hand, slick with her own juices, wraps around him next to Merlin’s, and he can’t bring himself to care. He’s coming, all over his own stomach and Freya’s, and Merlin trails his hand through the mess and winks before he tastes it when Arthur finishes, too spent to do more than breathe.

The bed, he realizes after a while, is a mess of come and lube, the sheets hopelessly and completely soiled. Freya has eased herself off him, probably right into another wet spot, and has the cat-that-got-the-cream expression that must mean she finished herself off sometime while he was lost. Merlin is sprawled on his back on the other side of the back, half-hard but not seeming to care a whit about it. “Stay the night,” he says, even though his eyes closed and he can’t possibly know that Arthur’s back with them.

“I think I will,” he says, eyes already slipping closed as well, and only manages to thread his fingers through Freya’s before he sleeps, forgetting about the wet spot and any freaking out he ought to be doing.

Arthur wakes once in the night to Merlin fucking Freya right next to him, her legs wrapped around his hips and both of their hands tangled with Arthur’s. Merlin turns to kiss him in the middle of it, and Arthur falls back asleep before they even change rhythm.

In the morning, he wakes up to Merlin’s mouth wrapped around his cock and Freya standing in the bedroom doorway with a smile on her face and a mug of tea cupped between her hands.

He should be worrying, wondering how long-term this can be, what they can tell their friends, if maybe Merlin and Freya will change their minds and leave him without this when he’s starting to wonder if he’ll never want anything else. It’s hard to, though, with the lazy Sunday-morning sun filtering through the curtains and Freya wearing his button-up and nothing else, smiling like she’s got a secret. “Come over here and kiss me,” he says instead of anything he’s thinking.

If something’s going to go wrong, it can go wrong later.

*

The thing is, though, that nothing does go wrong. Arthur spends the whole of his Sunday in Merlin and Freya’s bed—every time he tries to get up, except when he insists he needs the loo, one of them distracts him or brings him food. They spend most of the afternoon watching something confusing in Spanish that only Merlin pays any attention to while Arthur and Freya steal kisses during the boring parts and they eat leftover risotto for dinner before Arthur says he’s got to go home for the night and finally puts his clothes on, which are rather the worse for wear.

Gwen calls while he’s on his way home. “I’ve been calling all day,” she says when he picks up, more amusement than reproach. “Things last night either went very well or very badly.”

“They went well, I think.”

“Oh, you think?” Morgana says something in the background, sharp but laughing. “Morgana says if you tell her details she’s going to disown you. You can tell me all the details you like, though.”

Arthur laughs. “The fact that you two are bringing a child into the world is terrifying. I’m keeping the details to myself, thanks.”

Gwen pauses. “It’s not the only time, right? You wouldn’t sound so happy if it were that good and only once.”

When Arthur left, he left with a promise to have Merlin and Freya to his flat on Thursday night, and he’s giving serious consideration to calling in sick on Friday already. “We haven’t precisely defined things, but it isn’t the only time, no.”

“Good. Are you … telling people? I mean, ought Morgana and I be keeping our mouths shut?”

That’s the only serious conversation Freya and Merlin allowed on their whole Sunday together, so he is prepared for that question, even if things are still a bit up in the air. “We’re telling friends—our group, but no one outside of it. No parents or anything, at least not yet.” Though of all of them, Merlin’s the only one with a parent left, so it’s less a consideration than it might otherwise be.

“I’m happy for you.” Gwen’s voice is warm and pleased, and Arthur grins at no one in particular, probably frightening a passer-by or two. “I was worried, while you were in California and after you’ve been home—I don’t like the thought of you lonely, and it seemed to worry you that everyone else was together.”

“This isn’t precisely the most normal way of doing things, you have to admit.”

Gwen just laughs. “Who cares about normal? You’re an adult, and you’re allowed to make your own decisions. Now, this calls for a pub night.” Morgana says something else in the background. “No, I’m not going to drink, but everyone else is. Maybe Saturday night, so you’ve got a chance to have another date or two with them.”

It’s useless to argue with Gwen, even more than it is to argue with Morgana, so Arthur does his best to acquiesce gracefully. “Saturday should be fine. As long as you don’t mind me leaving early, given the opportunity.”

“Not a soul will blame you,” Gwen promises. “Now, tell me all the news that’s fit for public consumption.”

Arthur tells her the barest bones of dinner and his conversations with them, ignoring the fact that he’s almost certainly on speaker phone even if Morgana’s being quiet, and when he hangs up, he texts Merlin: _Pub this Sat? Gwen wants us to spread the news of our ménage a trois far and wide._

He’s almost to his door before he gets a text back. _Wear something nice, looking forward to showing you off. F agrees. ;)_

Arthur laughs, feeling lighter than he has since maybe before he went to California, and sends _My best heels and pearls, I promise_ before pushing the door to his flat open.

*

Leon’s the first one who gets it on Saturday, looking from Arthur to Merlin and Freya sitting on either side of him and then frowning thoughtfully for about three minutes before starting to laugh. “This explains a whole lot,” he says when nearly everyone gives him baffled looks, and gestures at Arthur, who’s trying to look neither overly smug or overly ravished, both of which he is.

“Care to explain to the rest of the class?” Vivian inquires, scowl firmly in place. She does hate missing out on gossip.

“Freya and Merlin seduced Arthur,” says Morgana before anyone else can, taking a long pull off her pint and looking tortured. Like she has any right to judge, Arthur knows things about her and Gwen’s sex life that grant him quite a lot of leeway in that area. Especially as he’s being as discreet as possible. “Finally.”

The table erupts with shock and then, after a few seconds, congratulations (and, Arthur thinks, money changing hands between Elyan, Gwaine, and Mithian). Gwen, bless her, hushes everyone before the noise can overflow to the other tables in the pub. Not everyone knows or should know their business. Merlin presses his ankle against Arthur’s and looks around the table. “It’s not a big deal, we just don’t want to have to hide it with you guys. There’s enough pressure in public, we don’t want it with our friends too.”

“So you’re all … boyfriends and girlfriend?” Elena asks, eyebrows halfway up her forehead. “What’s the terminology?”

They finally managed that discussion at eleven at night the night previous, curled up on Arthur’s bed with him in the middle and Merlin and Freya linking hands across him. It’s early, yet, but they’re all confident enough of it working out to use those words. “That works, Ellie,” he hastens to say before anyone can suggest anything horrifying. Morgana looks like she’s been coming up with awful suggestions and is just waiting for the right moment. If the word “paramour” crosses her lips he’s going to be forced to do something drastic. “It’s early days, and all that. Like Merlin said, we don’t want it to be a big deal.”

It is, of course, but to Arthur’s relief it’s only the same sort of big deal it would be if Leon and Mithian arrived holding hands or Vivian and Gwaine finally admitted they’re nearly to the stage of living together. Everyone watches them all night, getting used to it, but they seem to take it in stride when Arthur brushes Freya’s hair out of her face and when Merlin goes off to swindle people at pool and insists on a good-luck kiss from Arthur and Freya both. Arthur insists on just kissing him on the cheek for the public’s sake, but when Merlin pulls away Gwen and Leon are still smiling indulgently at him and Freya reaches out for his hand under the table as easy as anything.

Percival excuses himself first, citing a volunteer shift in the morning, but Merlin nudges Arthur not too long after. “Can we invite ourselves to yours tonight? You’re closer to here.”

“It’s like you think I didn’t notice the change of clothes you both left this morning,” he says, and ignores the way Elyan grins. “Freya, are you ready?”

“Ready,” she says, and stands up, holding a hand out to pull him to his feet while Merlin finishes one last comment in a debate he’s been having with Gwaine all night over whether the American _Office_ can hold a candle to the original.

Arthur says his goodbyes as normally as he can with Freya’s hand in his and Merlin leaning companionably against his shoulder. They’re easy with their touches in a way he isn’t used to, now that they’re properly together—it should look innocuous to anyone who doesn’t know what’s going on, as it’s not the first conclusion most people jump to, but it still feels steadying and natural, the way Gwen and Morgana look at each other and the way he’s never quite managed with anyone before.

Leon’s been giving them quick looks all night, expression unreadable, but when Arthur raises his eyebrows, waits for a verdict from his best mate, he grins and nods and makes a shooing motion. With that blessing, he’s more than willing to proceed, so he grabs Merlin’s arm before he can get drawn back into an argument with Gwaine and pulls him away, away from the table and then out to the street, where they all have to walk squeezed together to make room on the pavement.

Arthur’s flat is only a few streets over, and they’re quiet on the walk. Arthur drifts to the side while they made the turns, leaving Merlin and Freya to hold hands as they walk along, looking over at him every minute or so and exchanging smiles. The doorman at Arthur’s building manages to look both impassive and mildly scandalized after they pass, maybe drawing conclusions about their frequent visits, but Arthur is feeling buoyed after his friends’ easy acceptance and just gives him a grin in return. He’s not planning on living here forever; the doorman can think whatever he likes.

Freya seems to have a particular love for Arthur’s couch, so they end up there in a sprawl of limbs once they get through the door, shoes off and Merlin half out of his shirt but too lazy to do much more. Arthur absently rubs Freya’s feet, propped up on his lap, and doesn’t try to move things any further. He’s a little fuzzy with drink, and they’re both a little giggly too, with the alcohol or with relief at everything going well. He’s perfectly happy to spend an hour or two on the couch, trading between conversation and kisses, before moving to the bed for the night, with sex or without it.

Merlin’s in the middle this time, Freya’s legs stretching over both of them, and he’s leaning over his—their—girlfriend, brushing his nose against hers while she musses his hair. Arthur laughs at them and leaves them to it; if they were anyone else and they were feeling this out, he’d be jealous of their little habits, the signs they’ve been together five years without him and know and love each other better for now. With them, there’s just the knowledge that with time, he’ll have his own inside jokes with each of them, his own private signs of affection.

For now, he just keeps rubbing Freya’s feet and enjoying the warmth of Merlin against his side, and when Merlin whispers “I love you” to Freya like he’s worried Arthur will be offended, he just smiles. It doesn’t matter if they aren’t saying it yet, don’t feel it yet. There’s time for it, later, and he’s got every faith that it will work out. He’s in no hurry for now.


End file.
